Chapter 5 - THE POLICY WITH MY NAME ON IT
I looked at my husband.
For the first time since entering Kensington Hall, I was afraid of him.
Not emotionally.
Physically.
“Did you buy life insurance on me?”
Ethan went completely still.
Marcus stood.
“How much?”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Sophia—”
“How much?”
“Twenty million.”
The room disappeared around me.
“You insured my life for twenty million dollars.”
“Yes.”
“And seven months later, someone registered me as dead.”
“I did not kill you.”
“I’m standing here. Obviously.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
I backed away when he approached.
He stopped immediately.
Good.
At least he understood that much.
“Why?” I asked.
“My financial adviser recommended it.”
“Name.”
“Graham Pierce.”
Marcus typed.
“Who is the beneficiary?”
Ethan hesitated.
That hesitation almost destroyed him.
“Cole Holdings.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“Your company?”
“It’s a key-person insurance structure.”
“I don’t work for your company.”
“You helped build it.”
“Apparently not enough to attend your party.”
His face twisted.
“That was cruel.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
Too late.
Marcus looked up from his laptop.
“Graham Pierce worked with Nathan Kensington’s private office until three years ago.”
Ethan stared.
“What?”
Another thread.
Another connection.
Arthur looked older than he had an hour earlier.
“Miss Kensington, I strongly recommend you leave the hall tonight with family security.”
“I agree.”
Ethan immediately said, “I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Sophia.”
“No.”
“If someone actually intended to make your death appear real—”
“You insured me for twenty million dollars.”
“I didn’t know about the certificate!”
“I don’t know what you knew.”
That was the truth.
And it hurt more than anger.
I couldn’t distinguish my husband’s lies from his ignorance anymore.
Khloe was escorted downstairs for questioning.
Before she left, she looked at me.
“You think this makes you better than me?”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I think being married makes me your victim, not your competition.”
For once, she had nothing to say.
I spent the night at my family’s townhouse on East Seventy-Third Street.
Ethan called fourteen times.
I answered none.
At 3:07 a.m., I finally opened his last message.
I AM SORRY FOR KHLOE. I AM SORRY FOR TONIGHT. BUT I SWEAR TO YOU I DID NOT KNOW ABOUT THE DEATH CERTIFICATE. PLEASE STAY WITH SECURITY.
I stared at the words.
Part of me still knew his rhythms.
Ethan lied defensively.
When cornered, he overexplained.
This message didn’t.
That frightened me.
At seven the next morning, Marcus arrived.
“You were right about something.”
“What?”
“Khloe isn’t the center of this.”
“Who is?”
“Still working on it.”
He gave me coffee.
“However, we found the insurance application.”
“And?”
“Your signature is on it.”
“I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
He showed me the scan.
It was an excellent imitation.
But I always looped the final “a” in Sophia.
This signature didn’t.
“Forgery.”
“Yes.”
“Who witnessed it?”
Marcus rotated the page.
DAVID LORNE.
Of course.
Then he showed me the date.
Eight months ago.
One month before my fake death.
My hands became cold.
“Someone planned this.”
“Yes.”
“Before Ethan started seeing Khloe?”
Marcus paused.
“According to Ethan, yes.”
That mattered.
If Ethan told the truth, the conspiracy predated the affair.
Khloe might have been recruited afterward.
Or Ethan was lying about when the affair began.
Both possibilities hurt.
Then Arthur called.
His voice was strained.
“Sophia, Nathan is here.”
“At the townhouse?”
“Yes.”
“What does he want?”
“To see you.”
I almost said no.
Then I remembered my father.
Never let people who believe you are weak choose the battlefield.
“Send him in.”
Nathan entered ten minutes later wearing a navy suit and the same warm smile he had worn at every Christmas of my childhood.
He kissed my cheek.
“Cousin.”
I did not move.
“Did you have me declared dead?”
His smile vanished.
“What?”
I watched his face carefully.
For the first time that morning, someone seemed genuinely shocked.
“I thought you knew,” he whispered.
“Knew what?”
Nathan sat slowly.
“Sophia, I never filed to inherit your trust.”
Marcus stiffened.
“We have the petitions.”
“They’re forged.”
My heartbeat changed.
“By whom?”
Nathan looked terrified now.
“That’s why I came.”
He pulled a document from his coat.
“My name was used too.”
It was another trust petition.
This one requested control after both my death—
and Nathan’s.
I read the successor’s name.
Then read it again.
Because the person positioned to inherit Kensington Capital after Nathan and me was neither Ethan nor Khloe.
May you like
It was my husband’s attorney.
David Lorne.
